The Slytherin Within
by laurielove
Summary: HG/LM. Two chapters of the usual. There is a celebratory ball at Hogwarts. Lucius is in a particularly Slytherin mood, but who's complaining? Conforms to my story, Discovering Beauty, but can stand alone. More inside.
1. Chapter 1

**This story takes place about a year after Hermione and Lucius get together in my story, _Discovering Beauty_. They are now an established couple, in an intense, sexual relationship, and Hermione is living at Malfoy Manor. I'm sure many or most of you will have read DB, but you certainly to do not need to to be able to enjoy this. As long as you know that they are a couple, it can stand alone entirely. **

**Thank you to EVERYONE who has reviewed the last chapter of DB. I will get back to you ASAP. I am overwhelmed by your response. Thank you, thank you. xxx**

**Still, I just can't seem to stop these ideas popping into my head. This one, of a trip back to Hogwarts, suddenly seemed really obvious, and it flowed out pretty easily. It would have been good to have fitted in properly into the story, but I hope that doesn't alter your enjoyment of it now, either as a stand-alone piece, or knowing DB. There are a couple of references to DB, and some colour symbolism which can be linked to another dress Hermione wears in that story, and the significance of what she represents to Lucius at those moments. (tbh, that was fortuitous, not planned, although I probably shouldn't admit to that!)**

**So - enjoy - Lucius is at his haughty, arrogant best here ...! Yum.**

**As you will see, the title can be interpreted in a variety of ways!**

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The Slytherin Within

Hermione Granger sat in the kitchen of Malfoy Manor with a glass of wine and a copy of the Daily Prophet. She had given Tibby the house-elf the night off and had just finished preparing a casserole for the evening meal. Lucius had gone for a swim down at the pool before supper. Hermione loved the times when she could have the beautiful kitchen to herself, put on some music and cook.

She took a large sip from her glass and sat back, vaguely surveying an article on the activities of squibs in the wizarding world. It was hardly diverting. She sighed and turned to the next page. As she lowered the paper, her eyes fell on a thick, embossed piece of card lying on the kitchen table. Her insides twinged with a strange mixture of excitement and nervousness as she thought about what was written on the card. She could not help reaching over and taking it, reading it again for the umpteenth time.

_The Headmistress and Staff of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_invite_

_Miss Hermione Granger and guest_

_to a_

_Grand Ball celebrating the 1000th Anniversary of the Foundation of the Great Hall._

_10th July 2003_

_Great Hall_

_Hogwarts School_

_Dress robes for Wizards_

_Evening wear for Witches_

She had not been back to Hogwarts for two years, and only once since she had returned to finish her NEWTs after the war. She had never been there since her relationship with Lucius had become public.

She couldn't quite imagine being there with him. She associated it so much with her youth; with Harry, lessons, Dumbledore ... with Ron.

She was desperate to go, but equally apprehensive about what emotions it may stir up. She noted wryly once again that the invitation determinedly invited her 'and guest'. Her relationship was known to all in the wizarding world, and it was accepted that they were living quite openly and happily together. And yet, it was still difficult for many people to acknowledge them formally. She wondered if they ever would.

The ball was now only two days away. She had bought her dress. It was a shoulderless silk gown with a tight fitting bodice, laces weaving intricately at the back. The skirt was not vast, but full enough to denote sufficient elegance and glamour. But it was the colour that she adored more than anything. It seemed to suit her skin tone and bring out the depths of her eyes more than any other item of clothing she had. It was a deep emerald green.

Somehow she had not even made the connection between the colour and a particular Hogwarts House. All she saw was something which made her look good.

But when she had put it on to show Lucius, she immediately realised the significance. He had let his eyes take in the glory of the sight before him quite impassively, but then the corners of his mouth had twitched up and he had drawled smoothly, "My my ... I hadn't realised my tendencies had been rubbing off on you so much ... quite the little Slytherin, aren't you?"

The realisation had frozen her blood.

She had stood there in the green dress, Lucius staring languidly across at her. A multitude of thoughts and confusion coursed through her head. How could she possibly turn up at Hogwarts, one of its most famous Gryffindors, in a green dress? But still, this was nearly six years after she had left the school. She had changed. Her relationship with Lucius had brought her to the most profound realisation of her true nature, and what the essence of living was. It had meant opening to and welcoming the darkness in both of them. If that meant there was a little of the Slytherin inside her, so be it.

She held her head up, letting her eyes fall on her reflection in the mirror, taking in the iridescence of the emerald silk as it shimmered in the firelight. Her lover came up behind her, reaching his hands around her waist and lowering his head to her throat. She had watched them in the mirror as his hand had reached down to pull the skirt up and searched out her throbbing centre. He had found her immediately wet and swollen for him and it had not taken long before his skilled, agile fingers had brought her to a pulsating climax. She had seen her mouth fall open in ecstasy as her knees gave way slightly. He tightened his grasp on her waist to hold her up, then at length had moved back from her, leaving her staring at herself, and left the room.

She would wear the dress.

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And now, as she sat in the kitchen, the ball was only two days away. She sighed deeply. The slight anxiety remained, but her over-riding feeling was intense anticipation and longing to return to the scene of so much joy and excitement.

When Lucius returned, they ate peacefully in the kitchen. Hermione looked across at him. "How do you feel about going back to Hogwarts?"

As usual, he did not give an immediate response, but at length he answered calmly. "It will be interesting."

"I've only ever known you at Hogwarts when I've hated you."

"Hmm."

"And you've hated me."

No answer.

She picked at her supper. "I suppose, as you say, it will be interesting." She paused. "Are you looking forward to it?"

He smiled sardonically. "That will depend on what happens."

She looked at him, but decided not to persist with the topic.

Two days later she found herself dressed in her green dress, her rich brown curls, tamed and silky, piled high on her head, Lucius' mother's necklace once again round her neck. She studied herself in the mirror. She would certainly make an impact. Lucius came up to her. He was dressed entirely in black, as indeed was usually the case. But under his dress robes he was wearing what was essentially a Muggle dinner jacket, albeit with black shirt and no tie. His cane was clasped in his right hand; a rare occurrence these days. He looked stunning.

"Ready?" he inquired.

"I think so." The butterflies twitched in her stomach. He approached her, running his hands up her bare arms.

"You look beautiful."

She smiled. "So do you."

He placed her cloak around her shoulders and held her hand. They were to apparate to a designated point just outside the castle grounds and be taken by thestral carriages to the entrance. It was a long way to apparate, but Hermione had found the experience easier recently, and Lucius seemed to be able to apparate effortlessly anywhere in Britain.

She smiled up at him. He gripped his wand and they disappeared.

They arrived in the familiar beautiful landscape. Hermione looked up and saw the castle silhouetted on the hill. It took her breath away. The sight seemed to take her back in time eight years. She felt young, headstrong, impulsive again. She turned to the person next to her and was almost surprised to find it was Lucius Malfoy. But one look at him before her brought her back to the present. She found, slightly surprisingly, that she could not wait to reenter the castle, and doing so with him seemed to be the most exciting thing in the world.

She gripped his hand and climbed into a carriage. She turned to the front. The thestrals could clearly be seen tethered to the harnesses. She gasped. It was the first time she had been able to see them. It was another sharp reminder of what she had been through in this place in her final year.

She turned to Lucius, the distress evident in her face. He held her close. "I have never seem them before."

"I can imagine it can be initially disconcerting. They are strange creatures. But it is something I have always been used to. I have been able to see them since I was three."

She glanced up at him, realising he was talking about his mother's death. Until now, she did not realise he had actually witnessed it. She lay her head upon him.

When they were at last outside the huge castle doors, Lucius offered her his arm. She paused, looking up at him, aware in particular at that moment of her dress. But looking up at the man next to her, she smiled and linked her arm through his proffered elbow. Together, they walked into their old school.

The Great Hall looked incredible. The ceiling was enchanted to resemble space, with swirling galaxies, super nova and shooting stars darting about. Chandeliers hovered through the air and the most beautiful roses, garlands and bouquets seemed to be growing out of the walls themselves, sending an intoxicating scent out into the room.

Hermione was immediately set upon by many familiar faces; old school friends, ex-professors, colleagues from the Ministry. Lucius too found himself similarly engaged in conversation. It was difficult for them to progress very far into the room. Harry and Ginny had not been able to make it, neither had Draco, although they had all been invited, and Hermione found herself wishing quite quickly that Harry in particular was there. There were several people she was delighted to see again, but as ever, there were many tedious and predictable guests whose only interest in her was to dig out more information for gossip and intrigue.

A Gryffindor girl who had been in the year below her came up.

"Hi, Hermione. Haven't seen you for ages."

"Hello, Rosa."

"You look incredible." The girl's eyes swept with jealous disdain up and down Hermione's body. "Interesting dress. Not exactly Gryffindor colours is it?"

Hermione voice was terse. "I hadn't realised that was a prerequisite of coming."

The girl sneered a little, shooting Lucius a venomous look, and left.

After a while of battling to get through the crowds, they at last found themselves in a quieter part of the hall, where Professor McGonagall came striding up to them. Her lean face beamed on seeing Hermione.

"Hermione, my dear, I am so glad you are here. Doesn't the hall look splendid? I spent half the enchantment budget for the first term on it, but I think it was worth it."

She had not yet acknowledged Lucius. Hermione laughed and returned her greeting. "Hello, Professor. It is so good to be back. It's strange; it's almost as if I never left."

"Hmm," replied McGonagall, returning to her usual clipped tone. "But quite a lot has changed with _you_ in that time, has it not? I must say, I'm a little disappointed in your choice of dress." She at last turned to Lucius. Hermione flushed slightly, although was ashamed at her reaction.

McGonagall looked up at the wizard before her. "Lucius," she said, the coldness in her voice obvious. Hermione was glad she had at least had the courtesy to use his first name.

Lucius extended his hand strongly. "Professor. What a pleasure to be back in this glorious institution."

He waited, arm extended, a slight smile on his face, his eyes fixed on the Headmistress's. She looked down at his hand, then inhaled deeply and reached out to shake it. Lucius continued. "I am sorry you do not approve of Hermione's dress. I personally think she looks stunning. Such an exquisite colour on her, do you not think?"

McGonagall looked at Lucius with utter contempt. Then with a slight sniff, she turned to Hermione, said, "I hope you enjoy the evening, my dear," and walked off.

Hermione turned to give Lucius as reproachful a glare as she could muster, but he merely raised his eyebrows in feigned ignorance and leaned down to kiss her. As his tongue slipped idly in to taste her, she instantly forgave him.

After a meal, during which time Hermione and Lucius chatted intelligently with professors past and present, many of the tables magically disappeared and a band came on. Hermione was pleased to see that in addition to some formal dances, they also played normal Muggle music. She couldn't wait to dance, but knew that it was not something she would be able to engage Lucius in. The thought of him on a dance floor made her giggle. Some things were just never going to happen. Still, she hoped she may be able to persuade him up for a slow dance. That required little exhibitionism.

Some of her friends came over and asked if she would join them dancing. She got up, telling Lucius where she was going. He watched her go with amusement. The last time he had seen her dance, it had been a most pleasurable experience just to look at. He smirked as she walked away from him, his eyes trained on her already swaying hips. Hermione took to the floor and started to dance, her arms raised above her, her head thrown back in delight. The elderly professor of apparition next to Lucius continued to drone on about rules regarding apparition to Muggle locations. He did not hear a word.

At last the band started to play a slow number. Hermione virtually ran back over to Lucius and grabbed his hand, almost pulling him out of his seat. "Dance with me."

To her immense delight, he immediately stood and allowed himself to be yanked through the crowds to the dancefloor. It did not go unnoticed.

They reached the middle and Hermione pulled him in close to her, reaching her hands up to clasp behind his neck. His fell to her hips and pulled her against him with a jolt. She started to move her body slowly from side to side and he allowed himself to be guided by her. It was enough for her.

"I didn't think you'd deign to come up and dance at all. I am a lucky girl."

He smiled down at her languidly.

"It is hardly something I would choose to do, but the sight of you in that dress is too too tempting. And besides, that man was boring me rigid."

Hermione glanced down languorously between his legs then back up slowly to meet his gaze. "How rigid exactly?"

He smirked down before raising his eyes and staring beyond her. "Oh ... there's always room for improvement."

She mimicked the smirk, pressing her hips against him and feeling the improvement take place almost instantly. He sucked in a sharp breath between his teeth and ground his concealed erection against her. They moved slowly together, hardly aware of the music, absorbed only in the sensations their bodies were drawing from each other. The air around them bristled with a palpable sexual energy that did not go unnoticed. Any couple dancing near them could not help but stare.

Lucius once again lowered his gaze to her, slowing his movement so that he had almost stopped and said, quite matter-of-factly, "Take me to the Gryffindor common room."

Hermione tensed momentarily, the Gryffindor in her reacting to his presumptive demand. She furrowed her brow with piqued curiosity. "Why?"

"Because I want to fuck you there."

She stopped dancing, fixing him with her eyes. He stared back, his expression completely unfathomable. She tried hard to rouse her spirit to be insulted, but found her only response to his arrogant stipulation was a pleasured twist of her belly. She replied as coolly as she could.

"You're not a Gryffindor. You won't be able to get in."

He merely drawled, "Oh ... there are always ways ..."

She knew she had capitulated to him. As soon as the idea had taken hold in her mind she wanted it as much as he did. But she did not move immediately, simply continued to sway against him while the song carried on. She would not let him have it all his own way.

His voice became harder. "Why are you making me wait? You know I don't like to."

She remained perfectly calm, her teasing of him thrilling her. "I'm waiting for the song to end."

He sniffed in derision but pressed himself further into her. She could not help but groan. The witch dancing nearest to her looked across in curiosity.

The song at last finished and Hermione stood still, gazing up at him. His eyebrows lifted in an expectant reminder. She could not ignore the aching throb in her core any longer. She took his hand and led him from the hall. She should probably have tried to be unobtrusive but her lust did not allow her to care.

They walked determinedly, but not fast, along the silent, empty corridors and up the bending staircases. It was the holidays. The students' areas were entirely deserted. They at last arrived outside the Gryffindor common room entrance. The portrait of the Fat Lady looked down in disgusted surprise.

Hermione supposed the password must have changed, but she tried the last one she knew of. It did not work. She tried several others. Nothing. The Fat Lady had her arms crossed and a look of amused indolence on her face.

"Oh God!" Hermione huffed. "Look, you know me. I've served Gryffindor well over the years. Please let me in."

The Fat Lady smirked down at her. "_You_ may have ... but _he_ certainly has not. I am not letting _him_ in."

Lucius rolled his eyes then stepped forward quickly. "Enough of this!" He raised his wand to the portrait, and even though he would have done little to hurt a mere image, the Fat Lady recoiled in horror. He continued, arrogantly persuasive. "I am Lucius Malfoy. My great-great-grandfather was acquainted with you, I believe, and I do not think it was an altogether happy acquaintance. Old habits die hard in my family. I suggest you open for us now."

The Fat Lady's bottom lip trembled as she continued to stare fearfully at his wand. The portrait swung open. He took Hermione's hand and went through the entrance behind it. The portrait immediately started screaming at the top of her voice, "Intruder! Intruder!"

Lucius stepped back swiftly to point his wand at her once again. "My dear ... _shut up_!" She complied instantly.

They shut the entrance tight behind them, locking it with a charm to ensure additional privacy.

Hermione walked around the room. It took her right back to her happiest and most vivid times. She inhaled deeply, taking in the familiar sights and scents; the fireplace, sofa, desks – it was all just how she remembered it. She waved her wand, lighting a fire in the hearth. It was good to be back.

She laughed a little. How strange to now be here with him. She looked over at Lucius. Surely she should be feeling shame, shame that she had brought him here at all, let alone to let him ... do whatever he wanted. But she could only acknowledge that her desire was undiminished. If anything, she wanted him more than ever. They brought out the best and worst in each other, and she delighted in it. She never questioned these days the responses and emotions he evoked in her. She had such complete trust and faith in him and their relationship.

As she stood in the familiar room, gazing at her lover, standing so tall and magnificent across from her, she felt the wetness between her legs. He started to cross to her and she allowed her eyes to sweep up and down his body as he walked.

"Why did you want to come here?"

"I have told you."

"Yes ... but why here ... you know you could have me anywhere."

He continued to walk slowly but surely, his cane placed meticulously on the floor before him with each step. His face had adopted the familiar Malfoy haughtiness, often absent these days, but able to reappear at a moment's notice, given the incentive. His voice spoke, formed on the tip of his tongue, more dangerous than she had heard it for an age.

"Aah ... but to have you _here_ ... in this place which represents your fight, your _spirit_ ... to have you give yourself to me, as you will ... _me_ ... a _Slytherin_ ... it will be exquisite."

He was nearly at her. Her breathing was heavy and her core throbbed with her agonised lust. She studied him, trying to be detached, ignoring as much as possible the increasing dampness between her legs. He looked at her with cool arrogance, raised to his full height, the merest hint of a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. She glanced around the room, trying to sound unaffected by his words and demeanour.

"I spent a lot of time here over the years – I even came back for a while after the war to complete my NEWTs."

"My dear – that must have meant you weren't applying yourself to the tasks in hand entirely satisfactorily. Having to come back after finishing ... tut tut tut."

She smirked at him, now standing directly in front of her. He looked down at her, such delicious arrogance etched on his face that her belly somersaulted. He took her hand and guided it between his legs. The feel of him hard and urgent was all she needed. She undid the zip and took him, releasing him out of his clothes.

"I think you know it wasn't quite like that."

He simply drawled back, "I hope you will apply yourself fully to the task in hand now."

She fixed him with her eyes and enclosed her fingers around his rapidly stiffening length. She rubbed and coaxed it within her palm and felt the flesh swelling and responding obediently. Then suddenly his fingers gripped her wrist hard and lifted her hand forcibly away. She resisted slightly, not understanding. He pulled her hand up so that it sat just below her mouth and twisted so that the palm was upraised.

"Spit." He said the words with a similar vehemence.

She looked him deep in the eyes and complied. Then he pulled her hand back down to him and released her wrist. She encircled him again, and this time glided smoothly over his growing length.

Neither took their eyes from the other.

She squeezed, pulled, twisted her fingers and hand up and around him, drawing him out ever harder and larger. Her fingers swept nimbly over his smooth bulbous head, and then she gripped hard again, pulling her hand down around him, with a twist. She loved the feel of him in her tactile palm. She could feel every ridge and vein on her fingers, and enjoyed the sensation of the silken skin as she pulled it around the iron core. His pre-cum dripped rapidly from his tip and she caught it up in her fingers, increasing the lubrication on his already slick pole.

She did not take her eyes from his face, and gazed in wonder at his impassive expression. His breathing became rapid and heavy, but apart from that, he gave nothing away, his eyes fixed coolly on hers.

She continued to caress, twist and pump him, bringing him closer, closer.

Suddenly he spoke, his voice harsh, insistent. "Mouth."

She knelt instantly, opening her lips and lowering them to him. But before she could take him fully he came desperately. He at last allowed his head to fall back and a groan of pleasure throbbed from his throat. His shoots spurted over and over into her, onto her. She tried to catch them in her mouth but she had been taken unawares and felt much of his thick fluid fall onto her face in hot bursts.

She gasped, her breathing heavy.

She raised her head to look up at him, aware of the white smears on her chin and cheek. He looked down at the witch before him with an expression which could only be described as pleasured disdain. Hermione delighted in it.

At length, Lucius reached into a pocket and withdrew a white silk handkerchief. He tossed it down to her.

"Clean yourself."

With that he turned and walked over to the sofa, sitting down and crossing his legs.

Hermione's core jolted with an emotion coursing through her. She knew, wished almost, that it should be interpreted as anger, but it was not. His words and actions had merely fuelled her desperate lust. She glanced over at him sitting haughtily, and throbbed deep inside.

He was still holding his cane. It was held vertically before him, down to the floor, one hand enclosing the snakehead on top. He hardly ever used it these days and it was strange to see him with it. It reminded her of who he used to be, could still be, never more apparent than now, with the contrast in the surroundings. She could not deny how it aroused her.

She retrieved the handkerchief from where it had fallen onto her shoulder, and brought it to her face, wiping his cum off slowly but forcefully, pulling her tender skin with it.

Eventually she raised herself from her knees and walked towards him. She could feel the wetness between her legs as she moved, and her belly twisted with longing.

When she got within three feet of him he abruptly raised his cane straight out before him, stopping her.

Again, he simply stared for the longest time, before his voice finally came in a low drawl.

"Remove your clothes."

She looked down at him for a while without moving, her breasts rising and falling increasingly rapidly. He raised his eyebrows sharply to emphasise his demand. Her hands gradually reached behind her to undo the laces which encased her so tightly. She instinctively turned slightly, allowing him a view as the back of the bodice parted and the creamy flesh beneath was revealed. He made not a sound, but if she had been looking she would have seen his mouth drop open and catch a breath.

She moved to face him again and let her dress fall from her, the material tumbling over her curves to the floor. She stepped out of it and stood before him in only her underwear, stockings and high heels.

He remained seated, legs crossed, hand on cane, surveying her body as if she was a specimen he was considering purchasing. Slowly he raised his cane, indicating her bra with the tip, following it with his eyes.

She undid the clasp and let it fall next to the dress. She waited.

After his eyes had fully taken in the sight of her breasts, rising and falling rapidly with anticipation, the nipples standing out hard and longing in the cool air, he slowly raised his cane again to point to the rest of her underwear. She bent to her suspenders, unclasping the stockings, and removed the knickers and belt. Then, finally, she removed her shoes and then moved her fingers to each stocking in turn, rolling them down, and pushing them from her feet.

She stood fully naked before him. Her skin was alight with anticipation and lust. Her throbbing centre ached for his touch. But he resolutely refused to move. He stayed in his position on the sofa, legs crossed, watching her.

A sound came from her; a slight gasping sob.

"Shh." He silenced her sharply. "You will not make a sound until I tell you."

She closed her eyes, focusing on her breathing to try to stifle any further noise.

"Turn around."

She forced her eyes open, but could not summon the fortitude to move, so desperate for his touch had she become.

When she did not comply, he once again raised his cane and twirled the end in a small circle to illustrate his stipulation, his eyes hardening.

She at last found her feet shuffling around until she stood with her back turned to him, her ripe backside fully exposed to him.

"Hands and knees."

The voice, so cool, low, silky, kept instructing her. He had made her come with his words alone before. She wondered if he would do so again.

This time, she found her knees giving way instantly, and she dropped to the floor, leaning forward and placing her palms flat out before her. She was well aware of the view he had of her and how exposed and vulnerable she should feel. It merely sent a thrill coursing through her blood, a surge of desire twisting her insides.

"Move your legs further apart."

She did so. She knew she was soaking for him, and suspected he could see it, see her glistening in the firelight.

She should feel dirty, degraded, used. She should stand up, retrieve her clothes and walk away. But she did not. The sublime rush her situation brought to her was exactly what she wanted. And he knew it. He did it because he knew that is what she wanted. Their mutual respect and profound understanding of each other was the only way they could allow this to happen.

She waited. Waited for what seemed forever. Her knees ached and her core dripped.

At last she heard his footsteps behind her, slow and measured. And another sound; his cane tapping on the floor as he walked.

She dared not look around.

She craved his touch. Craved the feel of him on her tingling skin. At last she got it. She felt something high up her back, near her neck.

But it was not what she was expecting.

The touch was of something hard and cold. She flinched instinctively before realising what it was. It was the tip of his cane. She tried to remain as steady as possible, but she struggled to fill her lungs with the oxygen she needed.

He moved it slowly, deliberately over her back in a languid snaking curve, ending at her rump.

He paused, then let is leisurely slip down over her smooth round cheeks, moving it over her hip and under her leg so the length rubbed along her briefly. He brought it under her. She tensed, not quite believing what she was feeling, but even so, unable and unwilling to protest.

He stroked the side of it up the inside of her thigh, then drew the tip up again. Her insides jolted desperately. He rested it on her throbbing, swollen clit. She bit her lip in an attempt to prevent any noise escaping her tormented body.

"I can see you," he drawled more languidly than ever. "I can see you dripping ... dripping for me."

He pressed with his cane. The cold, hard metal tip rubbed against the inflamed bud, causing a twist of exquisite pleasure shooting through her. She nearly came, and swallowed hard to stop the sound erupting from her depths. Then the tip dropped slightly, moving down, parting her folds until it stopped at her sodden entrance. It lingered there. She could not breathe.

Then it was gone. She heaved a deep breath out. Was it with relief or disappointment? She daren't admit it to herself.

There was silence. She did not know even if he was still behind her. Then his voice came to her again, now so close to her ear, a low whisper.

"What were you thinking? ... _Did you truly imagine ...?"_His voice was so close to her, she could feel his breath steaming in her ear. It was so low, so dangerous, her hairs stood up on end and her insides heaved. "You wouldn't have minded ... would you? _You would do that, wouldn't you_ ... here, in this place ... you want me so much, that you would let me do that to you ... _want what I am_ ... what you are too ... deep down." He exhaled a long breath of awe and desire out to her, unable to fully hide his own wonder at her total abandonment.

And then, at last, she felt his hands on her, over her, running along her agonised flesh, soothing and inflaming equally.

"And now, my love ... my own ... _you will feel me_ ... feel what I am ... Do you know what that is ... what lurks within ... within me ... and within you ... my tight, wet Gryffindor Mudblood?" His words snaked into her. His hands continued to sweep over her body, one running to between her thighs, sliding up their wetness, his fingers ending at her folds, parting them, stroking them, but avoiding the burning nub at the top. She thought she may explode. Her belly was a tightly clenched fist of steel wires.

"Say what it is. What you want."

She did not respond. Her mind was too thick with desire for thought.

Again his voice, icy, hissing in her ear, "_Say it_."

Focusing her mind on him, she spoke, gutturally, desperately, "I want you ..."

"Be more ... _specific_."

"I want your ... cock ... your hardness ... _so large_ ... so good ... please, _please_ ... fill me ..."

"_Yes ..."_ Another low hiss. His fingers moved along her, one questing inside. "And when you feel that cock ... throbbing, scorching, stretching ... wiping out any limp, insignificant Gryffindor pricks ... what is it ... _what are you feeling_ ...?"

She could not respond. She may pass out.

"Speak to me, my little Gryffindor."

"A ... a ... Slytherin cock ... _your Slytherin cock_ ... pounding me, filling me ... _fulfilling me_ ... _completing me ..."_

She heard him smile against her. Then she knew he had moved.

His fingers were gone and then at last ... _at last_. Something nudged her, opened her, smooth, hard, but so slow, pushing her walls aside as he edged in. She had been expecting him to plunge hard, but he moved deliciously slowly, pushing his iron member into her a fraction at a time. It was exquisite, she could feel every inch of him as he moved down her, into her. She felt herself parting for him, and then finally he was as deep inside as he could be and he pressed against the resistance of her cervix.

They stayed still for a moment, focused entirely on the feel of him embedded fully within her slick tight passage. Then again he spoke.

"Now ... _scream_. Scream and come for me. _For me_."

With that he grabbed her hips forcefully in both hands, fingers digging into the flesh and pulled out suddenly and fully. He breathed in sharply and thrust in completely, jolting her along the floor. She gasped in surprise and pleasure. He repeated his action; pulling out, then plunging fully back in, harder and faster this time. He drove along her walls, stroking her tender spot inside, sending her towards her final release. She at last could express the ecstatic completion she was feeling.

"Oh god ... _oh god_ ... _yes_ ... more ... _more_ ... Lucius ... don't stop ... harder ..._please, harder_ ... make me scream ... faster, _now_ ... god ... _you are everything_ ..."

He plunged over and over into her, his pace becoming increasingly rapid and desperate, spurred on by her words. His own groans of concentration and pleasure filled the air endlessly. He could not take his eyes from the sight of himself plunging into her body over and over again. She felt as if she had been lifted off the floor, impaled on him. In her mind, she existed solely around the huge burning cock which was drawing her soul out of her.

He was close, holding back for her alone. But as she felt him swell towards the end, her whole body froze in expectation. Then the rapture engulfed her, radiating relentlessly from her tightly crammed core, to wash over her entire being. She shook violently, uncontrollably, and her inner walls squeezed around him hard. She screamed; a scream of complete undoing, only two words able to be formed. "_Lucius! Fuck! Lucius! Ohh ... fuck!"_

He opened his mouth in delirium and released up into her, clasping her hips yet tighter to control his own frantic spasms. A sound of pure surrender ripped its way from him. He knew he would do anything, give anything for this woman.

They stayed fused together for an age afterwards, their bodies liquid from the pleasure that had just taken hold. Neither moved. Hermione noticed his clothes lying off to the side and realised also from the feel of him that he was fully naked. She had no idea when he had removed his clothes.

His breathing remained heavy for a while, and for the last time his voice snaked its way to her again, so smooth it calmed her delirious flesh. "You see? Even here ... _even in this place_ ... you still cannot deny the Slytherin within you."

She could only release a final groan of deepest satisfaction.

At length he had to pull out so that they could lie down. He did so slowly, agonisingly. Neither wanted it. When he was out, he quickly pressed his body down onto hers, ensuring they remained as close together as possible. He was heavy, but both knew she wanted him there.

A long while later she spoke. "We should get back."

He was stroking her side languorously. "Why?"

"We can't stay here forever."

"We can do whatever we want."

She smiled at his audacity.

After a while, they realised the ball would be winding down and they should probably return, if only to bid their farewells.

He stood, pulling her up with him. They had little energy left, and used spells to clean and get dressed quickly.

She moved to him and he pulled her into his arms. She smiled up, whispering, "Thank you." His eyebrows raised quizzically.

"It is you who should be thanked," he stated firmly. "You will never cease to amaze or surprise me."

She chuckled. "You're not exactly predictable yourself."

He smirked, then walked out of the common room ahead of her. They returned to the ball, a new radiance present in both of them.

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**Let me know what you think of this one. ;) I could POSSIBLY extend it to another little Hogwarts titbit. I had to edit this one slightly, so have some extra material lurking around ...! Let me know. UPDATE!! - I HAVE NOW DONE THIS. CHAPTER TWO IS HERE!**

**If you haven't read _Discovering Beauty_, check it out. It tells the story of how these two extraordinary souls discover themselves through each other.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Oh, why not ...?**

**x**

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The ball was ending. Hermione and Lucius were grateful not to have to converse and smile with any more obsequious sycophants, but still, their time in the castle had been ...pleasurable. It was enticing being here together, and neither wanted their visit to end too soon. As they bid their final farewells, Hermione's hand entwined in his once more and, instead of leading him outside to the carriages, they turned and headed back up through the deserted, moonlit corridors. No-one noticed them go.

They walked back through the castle, silently, hand in hand, being reminded of the moments they had both experienced here as students, but keeping their thoughts quietly to themselves.

They found themselves far from the core of the building, in an open atrium of some sort, unfamiliar to them both, adorned with statues of brave, noble wizards long dead. Lucius' hand was still closely entwined in Hermione's. The moon shone through the high windows, casting a blue light over the stones and statues around. It was beautiful. She squeezed his hand. He turned to look at her, once more in wonder.

She reached up to kiss him, tenderly, almost chastely. When she parted, she whispered, "We forgot to do that earlier." She moved off again.

He caught her hand and pulled her back again. "I also forgot to do this earlier."

His mouth was at hers once more, opening it forcefully but lovingly. She was constantly amazed at how easily he could always reignite her desire.

His mouth, open and hungry, moved down to her throat, coming to rest on her collar bone. His lips on that sensitive part of her body caused a surge of pleasure to wash over her. She held his head to her. His hands reached behind her and undid the laces. He moved her bodice apart enough to pull down the front, releasing her heaving breasts from their constraints. They were thrust up over the top of the dress, flowing out, the nipples searching for contact.

Lucius could not contain a groan of wonder and delight gasping from him at the sight. He grabbed one in his hands, squeezing and plying the flesh, his fingers moving to the nipple and flicking over it. Hermione threw her head back and moaned desperately. So good. _So good_. His mouth moved down to her other breast and his lips closed around the nipple, drawing it out to a peak of pure sensation.

She grabbed his hair, pushing him harder into her. "God, you know I love that ... more ... _more ... harder_ ... god, you know ... _don't stop_ ..."

He obliged. His mouth sucked harder, his tongue laving the rock-hard point. The fingers at her other nipple squeezed yet more, pinching between thumb and forefinger. Hermione gasped in with delight. "_Fuck ... even more_ ..."

He bit down with his teeth and twisted with his fingers. She screamed in delirious pain then laughed gutturally at her reaction as he continued to torment her tight pink points.

Then suddenly he lowered his hands and grabbed her hips, lifting her up and placing her on the broad plinth of a statue they stood beside. He threw her dress up over her hips and pushed her legs apart. Not able to contain himself he swiftly used magic to rid her of her underwear. It was a high plinth and she was perfectly positioned at his mouth. She draped one leg idly over his shoulder, opening herself yet more for him. He gazed at her sex, open, expectant, wet for him already, then swiftly lowered his head to it, his tongue licking up her folds, dipping into her.

She hissed in through her teeth, her head falling back. Her belly clenched and her hands instinctively sought out her own nipples, not wanting to relinquish the feelings he had brought from her. She pinched hard. He glanced up and saw what she was doing, causing him to groan against her. She thrust towards him.

Both his hands joined his mouth at her core. Two fingers thrust in her pussy, two squeezed into her arse. She cried out in ecstasy. "Fuck ... _yes!"_ His tongue licked up and down, up and down, circling her engorged clit, drawing it ever more out, ripe, ready for the final plucking.

Her head thrashed, but she kept her hands on her nipples, pulling them out – there was never enough. But soon her hand instinctively and violently reached down, grabbing his hair and pushing his head hard into her. One hand remained firmly at her nipple. She was poised. His fingers flicked within her. His tongue was at her clit and his lips closed around it. He sucked hard. Her fingers twisted. Then she broke with rapture, convulsing around, over, his mouth and fingers. She growled, long and low, but growing shriller as the pleasure coursed through her every fibre.

He did not move his fingers or mouth from her until the last little moan, sigh and mewl had left her, and her body had finally sagged completely. Then taking his fingers out, he let his tongue lick one final time along her, ensuring he had drunk all of her in.

When she had recovered, small guttural laughs of pleasure sounding sporadically from her, he lifted her off the plinth.

As she was lowered to the floor, she brushed against his huge erection, drawing a groan from him.

She looked blearily up at him, instantly aware of what she must do. "More, Mr Malfoy?" she drawled.

He cocked an eyebrow. She bit her lip, fixing him seductively with her eyes, her hands dropping to his belt. She started to push him backwards, away from the moonlit hall and into a dark corridor, from which classrooms radiated off.

She reached up, kissing, opening, tasting, ever pushing him back, until they hit a door. He reached behind him for the handle and it opened. They both fell through, nearly collapsing inside. They parted long enough to glance around them. They were in a classroom, empty now for the holidays, except for the teacher's desk, chairs and tables. A few desultory bulletins hung limply from the wall. She smirked up at him, before continuing her exploration of his body. They continued into the room, and he found himself stopped by a hard object. He glanced back. It was the teacher's desk, a few quills and parchments still lay strewn over it.

Hermione's hands came up again, increasingly desperate. They reached for the buttons of his shirt, rapidly undoing them and exposing the smooth flesh beneath. A shaft of moonlight fell across his chest, making it glow supernaturally. She lowered her head to it, planting warm, wet kisses over his torso. Her hands dropped, finishing what she had started earlier. His trousers and underwear fell to the floor, revealing him hard, throbbing, searching her out. She resisted but continued to lick over his chest, catching a nipple enticingly as she did so.

He hissed his tormented pleasure out, before drawling between sharp breaths, "Tell me, Miss Granger, were you such a bad, bad girl at school?"

She smirked against him, her lips and teeth tasting and nibbling his chest and nipples. "Oh no, Mr Malfoy, at school ..." she glanced up at him, before descending further, "... I was a very, very good girl." She was nearly there.

He struggled to contain himself. "So it's just my corrupting influence, then?"

"In a word ... _yes_."

With that she plunged her mouth fully around his throbbing, engorged head, taking it deep into her warm, velvety wetness. He released an agonised groan of the deepest pleasure.

She worked quickly; they were both so hungry for each other, that she could not be slow. Her mouth tightened around him and pushed down, taking him deep before pulling up as slowly as she could manage, swirling her tongue over his head as she went. She tasted him dripping already into her mouth and gasped in delight as the salty viscosity leaked onto her tongue.

His hand came to her hair and he pushed her onto him. "_Fuck! Again!"_

The incongruity of hearing that word from his noble mouth never ceased to elicit a throb of pleasure from her, and she moved swiftly to take him again, licking, tasting, swirling as he descended further than before. She held him as far down her mouth and throat as she could, glancing up at him. His face had taken on the familiar look of sheer wonder and abandonment. For that sight alone, she held him as long as possible, before pulling her tight lips slowly back off him to gulp in much needed air.

Immediately, he pushed her down again, this time she moved up and down rapidly, drawing her hand up to cup and squeeze his sac gently, while the other encircled his lower length, twisting and pulling the skin around it. She worked him hard, knowing he was close. Her head moved urgently, her tongue swirling into his slit with each movement. He was groaning unceasingly. "So good, _so good_, witch, don't stop, _don't ever fucking stop_." She dragged hard one last time, her tongue catching him. He tensed then shuddered and she caught him. His hot shoots spurted once, twice into her, then again, accompanied by the guttural groans of his rapture. She was triumphant and held his release on her tongue for a while, eyes closed in delight.

Then at last, with a last glance at him, she swallowed, feeling him coursing down into her.

She moved back. He was breathing deeply, supporting himself desperately on the desk.

She grinned up at him, before standing and backing off. She left him to recover and walked slowly round the room.

"God knows where we are," she laughed. "I don't recognise this classroom at all."

She walked over to the few notices that were still on the wall. They announced times for Quidditch practice and results of Transfiguration exams. There was an indistinct bit of graffiti scratched onto the stone wall. It was not clear, but she could just make out the initials, "LB + RW" She could hardly stifle the laugh, but continued round the room. She stopped before a wall chart of a timeline of magical history. The various figures on it moved as she approached, re-enacting their most famous scenes from history. She smiled to herself, then sighed, "I suppose we'd better go."

Suddenly she felt him behind her, hot and urgent. His hands clasped her round the waist and he lowered his head to her ear, his voice low, slow and insistent, "I haven't finished yet."

She moaned with anticipation. She would not argue. Reaching behind, she felt him, rock hard and vital again. Moving her hand higher, she could tell that he was naked save for his unbuttoned shirt.

He drew his hands up to her shoulders, then brought them slowly, deliciously down over her arms, leaving a trail of electrified flesh as he went. He brought his hands down to rest on the back of hers, entwining his fingers in hers roughly. Then slowly but firmly, he pulled them up, raising her hands up high above her head, splaying her arms a little and pinning them to the wall. He pushed against her, his mouth once more descending to her throat, opening onto it, biting down on the tender flesh. She cried out with the delicious surprise of it.

Then slowly he lowered his own hands. At first she did not move hers from their position above her, but then one started to fall inadvertently. Instantly he had recaptured them both in his, forcing them in roughly against the stonework, grazing her knuckle. She gasped with longing.

"I did not say you could move." His icy hiss went straight to the swollen nub between her legs. Her core flooded her thighs.

His hands came down again. This time she left hers where he wanted them.

His right hand encircled her waist tightly, while the other reached for her laces, pulling them leisurely. Hermione felt the bodice loosen and fall apart.

"As much as seeing you in this dress is pleasure enough, I know that what lies beneath is even more delicious." He tugged at the material, and the dress tumbled to the floor around her feet.

He moved his leg in between her knees and roughly pushed them apart. She could feel him pressing ever more hard and insistent against her lower back and rubbed herself along the tip, drawing a hiss from him.

He clasped one arm hard around her waist, lifting her up, and bending himself down so that he was positioned at her dripping pussy. She groaned out. His strength staggered her.

His mouth was again at her ear, breathing his need into her. "_Are you ready, witch? Are you ready for me again?"_ His arm clamped hard around her waist, winding her a little. She only just managed to gasp out.

"_Yes_ ... always ... _I always want more_ ... do it ... _now!"_

With that he relaxed his hold on her, and straightening his own legs, she sank down onto his length. He was in all the way, resting on her cervix. She gasped in with wonder.

She was on her tiptoes, but able to move against him, and they developed a steady rhythm against the wall, her hands supporting her as he thrust fully in and out, stroking that exquisite spot inside time and time again. Then all at once, he pushed her hard against the wall. She cried out as her breasts hit the cold, rough stone, sending a jolt of delirium shooting through her. Her head fell back onto his shoulder as the tension inside her blurred her mind and senses. He held her tight, grunting with the exertion which was driving him towards his end.

As he thrust, she was propelled against the stone, her nipples dragging along it, creating exquisite agony and heightening her rapture. "Oh god oh god. More ... _more, Lucius_. Make me come now. _I want to come hard around you._ I want to make you come ... _I want to feel me pulling you out_ ... now ... _now!"_

He could hold back no longer. With a desperate cry he thrust harder than ever into her, forcing her up the wall, more delicious pain agonising her nipples. He plunged along her g-spot just at that moment, and the pleasure refused to be held back any longer. Her muscles clenched and then melted out and out from her replete centre. Her walls spasmed around him, squeezing his engorged cock, until he convulsed into her. He came hard, filling her with his hot seed, a deep cry torn from him. In his ecstasy he collapsed onto her, pinning her against the cold, hard wall while her pleasure flowed along and finally out of her body. The burning heat of his fulfilment clashed deliriously with the icy torment of the stone, heightening the sublime sensation.

They stayed fused together for as long as they could, their breathing heavy. But soon their position became too hard to maintain and he pulled out reluctantly and turned to collapse down along the wall. She did the same. They stayed that way, breathing hard, sweat glistening off them in the moonlight.

At length she turned to him, only just focusing, and panted out, "Promise you'll never stop corrupting me."

He could only smile, his eyes closed in exhaustion.

When at last they had left the castle and returned to the Manor, they lay side by side in the deep bed. He pulled her into him, just before sleep took them both, and whispered with a smirk, "Oh, by the way ... I promise."

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